Let me tell you what almost took me out.

For weeks—WEEKS—I have been doing the holy, unglamorous work of editing and reorganizing a soon-to-be book.
Moving chapters.
Fixing commas that think they run things.
Re-threading stories.
Listening for where God was nudging—and where I was just rambling.

This was faithful work. Quiet work.
The kind nobody claps for.

And then…
The tool I use to assist and “catch mistakes” decided to eat my manuscript.

Not nibble.
Not misplace a paragraph.
Eat it.

I have survived cancer, grief, caregiving, deadlines, and ice storms—but watching weeks of careful labor vanish off a screen?
That will make your chest tighten and your salvation flicker for a hot second.

I sat there spiraling:
Did I just lose half a book?
Am I behind now?
Did I just waste weeks of my life arguing with chapter headings?

Cue the dramatic sigh.
Cue me talking to my laptop like it had personally betrayed the family.

And then—grace, wearing sneakers—slid in sideways and whispered:

Your work is not gone.
You are not behind.
We did not lose half a book.

Because real work doesn’t live only in files.
It lives in muscle memory, lived experience, and a heart that’s been steeped in the message.

And Scripture backs this up.

“So I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten…”
— Joel 2:25

God restores years, not just results.
Restoration doesn’t always look like retrieval.
What God restores often comes back stronger.

So breathe.
Roll your shoulders.
Open a new document.

The words still know how to find you.
And the story is very much alive.

Love, Chelle
defygravitywithoutwings.com